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The balcony overlooking the courtyard was, in Lucanis’ professional opinion, the best place in the Lighthouse for morning coffee. Over the last few weeks he’d cultivated a little routine of rising early and putting a pot on to brew before any of his companions awoke, then bringing his mug up here to watch the strange shifting light of the Fade brighten into what passed for dawn in this odd place. At some point, Emmrich had started to join him. Lucanis had been a little wary of the offer of company, but the professor had so far proved an agreeable guest. He was not a habitual coffee drinker but he brought his own tea and didn't insist on conversation, which an undercaffeinated Lucanis approved of greatly. Instead they would simply wish each other a good morning and sip their respective drinks in a companionable silence, while the Lighthouse slowly stirred to life around them
This morning was not too different. Lucanis climbed the stairs, mug in hand, to find Emmrich already there, teapot and sugar bowl balanced on a little folding table. There was something of the wading bird about him, the way he stood tall and straight, cradling his teacup in his long fingers, head tilted a little to one side as he peered over the railing. Alas, all was not quite silent today. Down in the courtyard, Rook and Davrin were trying—with only middling success—to give Assan a bath. It was unusual to see either of them up at this hour, though knowing them it was possible they hadn’t actually gone to bed yet. Grey Wardens seemed to keep very antisocial hours, and while Lucanis could sympathise with this in both a personal and a professional capacity, there were limits. He wasn't sure where they'd found the big copper tub, but their clattering around the kitchen trying to fill it had interrupted his early-morning contemplations, so it was with the tiniest stab of malice—Spite—that he enjoyed watching them fail utterly at the task. Assan seemed to think that it was some sort of game where the objective was to get as much water as possible out of the tub and over the two men. If it was indeed such a game, then the young griffin was definitely winning. Davrin had removed his waterlogged tunic some time ago, uncovering the sort of physique one only got from wrestling monsters for a living. Rook had so far managed to stay fully clothed, which meant that he was still wearing the same outfit as always: Grey Warden-issue blue shirt and buckskin breeches, meticulously cleaned and mended but faded from sun and long, hard wear. There was probably a metaphor there about clothes and the people who wore them, but it was too early in the morning for that.
“Ah, good morning,” said Emmrich brightly, moving up to make space for him at the rail. “We have some very fine entertainment today.”
There was an almighty clang; Assan had upended the entire bath over Rook, whose spluttering and swearing was drowned out by Davrin’s laughter and the griffin’s triumphant squawks.
Hehe, stupid bird, snickered a voice in Lucanis' ear.
“Don’t be rude,” he told it. Spite stuck a spectral tongue out at him and slunk off down the balcony to better observe the chaos.
Rook took off his shirt. This was a complicated manoeuvre involving a lot of twisting and tugging as he untangled it from his horns. Once completed it revealed an alarming amount of dark grey skin, an array of glistening muscles that put Davrin’s to shame, and an enormous griffin tattoo that covered the whole of his left bicep and spread down over his chest.
“My word,” said Emmrich. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean to say—I had not expected him to be quite so… illustrated.”
It was a good recovery, but too late; Lucanis had already seen the predatory glint in his eyes. “What were you expecting?” he asked innocently.
“Oh, well, it would hardly do for a gentleman to speculate—” Emmrich started.
“But it’s fine for him to stare?”
Emmrich’s gaze snapped up guiltily. “Yes, well…” He coughed again, leaned closer and added, with a secretive little smile, “I have reason to believe it might not be entirely unwelcome.”
“Go on.”
“Overtures have been made,” said Emmrich vaguely. His eyes drifted back down to the courtyard, where Assan was diligently attempting to turn the bath right-side-up. This was not going well, but it was going loudly.
“By whom?”
“It appears to be a mutual appreciation.”
Lucanis bit back a laugh. The ‘mutual appreciation’ had been obvious almost from the moment Emmrich had arrived. And if it was obvious to Lucanis, it was certainly common knowledge to the rest of the team. Still, he could let Emmrich think they were being subtle about it for a bit longer.
They watched Rook wring out his shirt, consider it for a moment, then pull it back on and make a cursory and entirely ineffective attempt to smooth down the front. Emmrich tutted.
“Sorry, friend,” said Lucanis. “Looks like the show's over.”
Emmrich gave him a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed. Then he looked back at Rook and sighed. “That cannot be his only shirt.”
Lucanis tried to recall a time when Rook had worn anything else. “You know, I think it might be.”
“I have seen him in armour. Surely he must own other clothes.”
“He just puts it on over his fatigues.”
Emmrich made a pained noise, and Lucanis had to agree. Rook was a good man—earnest, principled, deadly on the battlefield—but his fashion sense left a lot to be desired.
“Perhaps I should take him to my tailor,” he suggested, swirling the last of the dregs around his mug.
Emmrich's eyebrows raised, lowered and raised again. “If you did,” he said carefully, eyes still fixed on Rook, “I'm sure I could contribute. The Mourn Watch have been very generous with regard to expenses.”
“Interesting.” There was a movement off to the side of Lucanis’ vision; presumably disturbed by all the noise, Neve had come to the door of her room and was leaning on the frame looking amused. She had on a silk dressing-gown and her unstyled hair was falling over one shoulder. Lucanis suddenly found himself standing straighter. He heard Emmrich chuckle quietly; when he looked back, the professor was giving him a sympathetic smile. Perhaps he wasn't as subtle as he'd thought either.
“Leave Rook to me,” he said, finishing the last of his coffee. “The Crows will sort him out.”
“How was your little expedition?” asked Emmrich a couple of days later, as Lucanis was tending their dinner on the stove.
“Successful, I think.” Rook had been a remarkably good sport about the whole thing. He'd clearly never been in a high-end sartorial establishment before but within ten minutes he'd made friends with all the under-tailors. In twenty, the normally-sober studio had had the atmosphere of a pub nearing closing time. They’d spent two hours in there; it had been the most fun Lucanis had ever had shopping for clothes.
“Splendid. I look forward to the results.”
There was a nice bottle of white wine waiting to be cooked into the rice. Lucanis measured it with the traditional method passed down by his grandmother, which is to say that he carefully poured out a glass, emptied the rest of the bottle into the pan, then drank most of the glass.
Needs more salt. Spite had recently developed strong opinions about seasoning despite having only a very tentative grasp of the concept of taste.
“No, it doesn't. He said he'd dress up for dinner, so you can see for yourself.”
More salt!
“No more salt.” Taash and Davrin were sitting on the other side of the room engaged in some sort of arm-wrestling contest; Lucanis lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. “I did learn something you might be interested in.”
“Oh?” said Emmrich with a very respectable attempt at nonchalance. Lucanis gestured him a little closer.
“He’s got another griffin on his thigh.” Grey Wardens seemed to have as much use for modesty as they had for a decent sleep schedule. As such, he had seen more of Rook than he had really wished. It had been a humbling experience.
“Well.”
Salt! Salt! Salt!
“No.” He offered Emmrich the last of the wine. Then the kitchen door opened and Rook's voice said, “Wow, it smells great in here!”.
Taash was the first to react. “Holy shit, Rook, when’d you get tits?!”
Lucanis felt the warm glow of a job well done. It would not have been his first choice of outfit; it wasn't nearly flamboyant enough for most Crows. What it was was leather. The breeches were leather. The wide triple-buckled belt was leather. The shirt—oh, the shirt was particularly fine, soft leather, exquisitely fitted. It should have buttoned to the neck, but Rook appeared not to have noticed this. And yes, it did indeed emphasise his pectoral muscles rather more than was strictly necessary.
(“It's not too much, is it?” Rook had asked him, frowning at his own reflection. “Don't want to look overdressed.”
Lucanis had considered the gaggle of giggling under-tailors huddled in the corner of the room.
“No. No, I think it's just right.”)
Rook was now receiving critique from Davrin. This seemed to consist mostly of insults, swearing and punching each other on the shoulder. Emmrich sipped at the wine, looking pensive.
“I don’t! Look, we’ll get a second opinion.” Rook called across the room. “Emmrich! Does this make me look like a bandit?”
“Oh, certainly not.”
“Told you.”
“A highwayman, perhaps, but one of the terribly romantic ones. It’s very becoming.”
Rook’s ears went purple. Fortunately for him, it was at exactly this juncture that Bellara and Lace arrived, and the whole thing had to start from the top again.
Emmrich passed Lucanis the empty glass. “My friend,” he murmured, “I am in your debt.”
“I'll put it on your tab.”
Codex entry discovered:
A note attached to a receipt from an exceedingly good, very discreet tailor's shop in Treviso.
Have your people pay my people.
L
P.S. Have you found the second griffin yet?
A response attached to a copy of an expenses claim from the Grand Necropolis, Nevarra City.
For your records. My deepest gratitude for your efforts in this regard.
EV
P.S. Yes. It’s really quite impressive.